Bodies were everywhere.
The way of the Dark Tower remained absolute. It remained stagnant for the past hundred years. Bodies were left. Bodies were thrown. Bodies experienced death as they lay in the waiting area.
Within the waiting room of the Dark Tower, on a floor in the mid-fifties, a fighter named Taz curled in agony. An unwellness had settled since yesterday, an inexplicable heaviness in his belly. He fought through it anyway. It was but a distraction, after all.
Every move of his seemed a little bit faster, however. Sick and faster? Did he take one too many potions? Did he take an unstable potion? Yes, that had to be it.
"Fuck..."
Sweat poured from every inch of him, soaking through his clothes, and a dull, throbbing pain radiated from his bones.
